


Christmas Baggage

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Competition, F/M, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Santa's Elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: Hermione Granger was going to be the best Santa’s Helper the Wizarding World had ever seen. It helped that she really had the hots for Santa. If only she could get out of her own way, she might find a true love that lasts.Winner of the Harry Potter Fanfiction Collective: Hogwarts for the Holiday Fest - The Amortencia AwardPrompt: Santa's Elf (Elves)Beta'd by Havelocked. She's the fire in which this story was tempered. Thanks, dear.





	Christmas Baggage

 

Hermione stood before the only flat door along the hallway that didn’t have any sort of holiday decor, looking intently at her watch. She was early.

 

Her boyfriend personalized his door by painting it in unrelieved black when he moved in and saw no need for any further ornament outside of the required brass placard embossed with the number, 2B. He lived in 3B, for it was alas,  _ not _ 2B. 

 

When she’d expressed her scepticism for the practicality of such an indulgence in humour over accuracy, the stubborn man argued that anyone who didn’t know what floor they were on deserved to get lost, for surely only people who  _ didn’t _ want to find him would lose their nerve at such a minor setback. 

 

Severus Snape abhorred the company of casual visitors. He did like hers, to her happy surprise. Heartening. 

 

Tonight, Severus had agreed to take on the role of Santa Claus and make the rounds at a long list of orphanages and children’s hospitals. Years ago, it was an assigned community service as part of his five-year probation after being pardoned for playing his part as loyal Death-Eater too well. He found this particular chore an entertaining way to spend an evening, so he’d continued to act the part, making it his tradition every year. 

 

Tonight was her first time as his assistant and she’d made an effort, feeling that this might be something like an interview for a longer-term position. It was a position that she’d discovered she wanted very much. 

 

Hidden under her long coat, she had on warm white and red striped wool stockings and knee-high black boots. She’d found a flirty kelly green velvet dress with a generous neckline, to which she’d added a red scarf tied about her neck in a bow. Bell earrings chimed quietly when she moved, and she’d transfigured her ears to pointed tips. Her hair was pinned away from her face, the bulk of it left free to trail down her back. 

 

She’d imagined Santa’s helper to be a sort of elf, always had expected it even before she’d met Dobby or any other House Elf. She had a special soft spot for the elf in the classic Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, whose highest ambition in life was to be a Dentist. She hoped that Severus would not remember his name was “Hermey.” 

 

As Santa Snape’s special helper, tonight it was her job to make certain everything went smoothly. In one hand she held a clipboard with the itinerary, and in the other she clutched at her beaded bag which she’d stacked with the presents they’d collected as donations for Christmas Morning’s festivities. 

 

Bertie Botts and Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes were prominent donors to Hermione’s chagrin, and so the wrapping was a challenge. Not more than this elf could handle, of course. She’d purchased books with Christmas stories to share with the children and added those in on her own sickle. 

 

Ten years and more back her little beaded bag had held the answers to most of her problems, contingencies for just about every anticipatable need with the glaring exception of vittles. This oversight ultimately spelt the death of her brilliance and attractiveness in Ronald Weasley’s eyes. 

 

Now the bag contained a small pantry in addition to a wardrobe of clothes to suit all climates, for ladies and gents. She’d replaced the old tent with a new one, and stocked all imaginable amenities. Hermione was determined to never be hungry, cold, or soaked through ever again. She’d cleaned the bag out several times over the years, yet it had gained mass.  Much of that was dedicated to her expanding library.

 

Technically the bag would have been illegal, yet the grateful people of Magical Britain pardoned it as it was instrumental to their saviour’s success and survival. 

 

The second hand ticked over the 12, so she lifted a hand to knock on the door. Before her knuckles could connect, it swung open. She still hadn’t become used to that, but her boyfriend was one of the most private and security conscious wizards in all of Britannia, if not the world. 

 

“How’d you know it was me?” She stepped inside, the low warm light of the flat coming mainly from the hearth at the other end of the room. 

 

“The same way I knew you’d been standing out there for the last six minutes.” Strong arms gathered her in and he tilted her head, planting a fuzzy kiss right on her lips. He’d mentioned an article about the Amalgamated Order of Real-Bearded Santas and after a debate, he’d decided to try a new potion this year. 

 

Giggling because his beard tickled under her chin, she squirmed out of his hands. 

 

A sparkle was in his eye as he asked, “And what did you bring for me under that delightful trench coat, oh Santa’s little helper?” 

 

Flushing, Hermione rubbed at her chin, still trying to decide if she liked the feeling of his beard against her skin. “Elf clothes.” 

 

“Really? Did you go with a tiny tea towel or the full-on luxury pillowcase?” He was looking at her through a window between his thumbs and forefingers that put one in mind of a photographer planning a shot. 

 

Hermione knew differently as she’d developed the spell he was using, or so she thought. He had a way of improving on things. Could he see through her coat? Cheating! 

 

“Severus! Stop being so naughty! It is Christmas Eve.  We have lots of toys to deliver for nice girls and boys…” 

 

Mouth twisting, he cut her off petulantly, “There is plenty of time, I see gaps in your schedule.” He pulled the clipboard out of her hands and tossed it on a table by the door. Knowing that she was still in need of convincing, he added, “The children are not supposed to see us, Hermione. They should be in their beds. Dreaming of sugar plums, not that the little cretins know what those are.” 

 

Considering his points, she gritted her teeth against temptation. They had a lot of ground to cover, but if they had to they could divide forces and get it done in half the time. Was that ethical when children would be spying for Santa? Did she really need to be anywhere first thing tomorrow? 

 

He stepped over closer to her in stockinged feet, confident in his stride. He dropped his voice low, having discovered that this particular timbre made her shiver. “Besides, I think you like it when I am... naughty.” 

 

She watched, rapt, as he reached out and undid the top button of her trench coat. Objections rose in her mind but didn’t make it past her lips as he gently trailed his fingertips against the exposed skin of her soft bosom where it pillowed above her dress. Languidly he undid her next button. 

 

All she could do was pant, “Sev…  _ Santa _ .” 

 

An indulgent smile came to his lips. “And you, Miss Granger, have been a  _ very good _ girl. In fact, you’re at the top of my list.” His crisp enunciation made her heart skip a few beats. 

 

The trench coat slipped off her shoulders and she whimpered as it dropped to the floor in a pool about her black booted feet. He stepped back, holding out a hand for her, as though she were a Queen being helped out of a carriage. Trusting his lead, she followed unresisting as he walked her over to the loveseat nearest the fire. 

 

Letting go of her, Severus sat down in the middle, patting his lap meaningfully. “Come now. Tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas.” 

 

Hermione perched on his leg with anticipation, lacing her fingers in her lap as she considered her answer. A good tumble sounded like just the thing, or perhaps a snog? 

 

She froze, choking on a wave of anxiety as he idly kissed her neck, waiting for an answer. 

 

They’d only been dating for a few weeks, and while there was clear chemistry between them, Hermione hadn’t managed to move past some significant hang-ups, ones that she’d hoped she’d grown past. She’d had a panic attack and started vomiting the last time they’d been alone like this together. 

 

By some miracle, Severus hadn’t dumped her. She’d come to expect that sort of response for more than one wizard had left her in the past. She was too tense, and things always went wrong no matter how hard she tried to be brave and see things through. While she wasn’t a virgin she  _ was _ honest, and her last lover took her problem as a personal insult to his manhood. 

 

She’d spent over a year dodging her friend’s attempts to set her up with ‘the perfect guy for you, Hermione.’ It had seemed entirely improbable that she’d ever find the one, and then she’d encountered Severus Snape. Hope resurrected, burning as brightly as a phoenix within her.  

 

The excitement she’d felt moments ago transfigured to cold dread. Rigid-backed, she crossed her arms across her chest, hugging herself. She should have known, she was going to ruin everything all over again. 

 

Sensing the change in her mood, Severus raised his head to look at her and rubbed her back gently. “Hermione, talk to me.” 

 

He could use legilimency, and they’d discussed that on their first date. He didn’t use it except in emergencies, never socially unless he was specifically invited. That had been a comfort to her at the time, but she’d dearly love to be understood now. Still, she didn’t feel ready to let him into her head. Her thoughts were a horror show, and she was afraid that he’d not be able to read between the lines of her carefully wrought probability trees of things that could go wrong. 

 

“Sorry.” Looking down at her lap, Hermione sucked in what, to her mortification, was a shuddering breath. The dear bearded face before her swam as her eyes filled with tears of frustration. “I… I’m just not right inside. I don’t know how to do this.” 

 

He arched an eyebrow at her, and she could tell he was not putting a voice to the obvious retort. Hermione Granger, not know how to do something? Surely the world was ending.

 

Neither of them laughed. She dropped her head, resting her chin on her chest, dissolving into real tears now. 

 

Thick with regret, Severus murmured, “Hermione. I am sorry, I must have... you shouldn’t feel pressured.” He shifted under her and moved her off of his knee and onto the cushion beside him. “I admit, I was caught up in the moment myself. You are so very fetching and there’s something extra in the air tonight.” 

 

Biting her lip hard, she worked to control the anger and sorrow that had broken loose of its mooring. She was a ship, lost at sea in a storm of strong and too long suppressed emotions, cut adrift without a map or star to guide her home by. 

 

“No, I wanted… I want this.” She gestured between herself and him. “All of it.” 

 

How could she explain that whenever she might accept romantic attentions beyond a kiss and a cuddle that she felt like she needed to run? That she was going to die if she let it happen. The way her brain reacted was illogical, completely not right. To be wanted, desired, was to be open to hurt, to be helpless. 

 

She could give affection, she could be intimate with a wizard that she cared about, so long as it was one-sided and she was completely in control. In fact, she’d given him a fantastic blow job for the first time a few short days ago. She loved it. Then everything fell to pieces when he’d tried to reciprocate. She wanted to be normal, to be loved and to love in return. Why was it so difficult? 

 

Shifting, she was confused by the action, until he pulled out a handkerchief. It was black. Practical. Possibly unwashed, but she didn’t care as she mopped her eyes and wiped her nose on it. 

 

Gently, Severus wrapped an arm about her shoulders and she leaned into his side with a heavy sigh. How did things start out so promising but end like this? More importantly, what could she do about it?

 

“Hermione, I lived through two wars and have been the Head of Slytherin for many years. I think I am beginning to have a sense of what is going on, but I’d like it if you’d help me understand.” His smile was disarming. “We do need to talk about this, and I won’t think worse of you, whatever is bothering you. I want this very badly too, witch.” 

 

He reached up and touched her cheek lightly and she leaned into his palm, closing her eyes. It helped to hear that, that he wanted to stay by her, that he still wanted her even if she was broken in such a fundamental way. 

 

She was Hermione Granger. She was supposed to be logical, linear, and straightforward. Strong, not a bloody puddle of snot and brine every time a wizard expressed sexual  _ desire _ to do things for her, things that she dreamed about. 

 

This particular wizard,  _ Severus _ , was a dream come true. He challenged her, met her at her own level and made her think differently. His wicked sense of humour came to her rescue, shocking and delighting her. He made her laugh. It helped that she felt that not only did she trust him, but she deeply admired him. She’d probably fallen for him years ago. 

 

How could she put to words what was happening? Would he understand? “I seem to want what I can’t let myself have.”

 

He whispered, “Miss Granger, why don’t you tell Santa what you’d like? You have carte blanche.”

 

Peeking at his face, she found him leaning back comfortably beside her, looking down at his own knee, his eyebrows raised a fraction as he waited for her response. 

 

On firmer ground, she twisted and undid the clasp on her beaded bag, sticking an arm in. “I’ve a list.” 

 

A quiet snort answered her. “Of course you do. I don’t suppose you’d like a Potions set and an Abraxan foal?” 

 

“No! Of course not.” She withdrew her hand, letting the bag hang from its string, the clamshell top open. “I am a grown…” 

 

Her words were interrupted by the sickening creak and groan of a safety chain under heavy strain stretched to its breaking point. The sound echoed off of the walls in the little flat. She froze and looked down at the bag in her hand. In her rush to defend her maturity, she’d allowed it to turn upside down. 

 

A silence followed, and for the briefest moment, she thought the magic was going to hold, stronger than the laws of physics. 

 

It was not to be. A snap followed by a rumble could be heard over her gasped, “Oh no! No no NO!” 

 

Dread and understanding chased close on the heels of perception before the deep and dangerous rumbling emanating from inside of her bag finally broke through Hermione’s paralysis. 

 

Too late, she failed to slam the bag closed, and the unfortunate pair were quickly buried under a veritable avalanche of wrapped presents followed by the flotsam of Hermione’s past decade of life. Kitchenware joined the fray, and worst were the cans of beans that shot out and dealt sharp blows wherever they hit before skittering away amongst the colourful parcels spread across the floor. 

 

Hermione valiantly struggled to close her bag, but it was pulled from her grasp under the force of the flood and borne away from her. It was all she could do to shield her head from the punishing barrage of hardbound books and other regrettably solid possessions. 

 

Sound and motion ground to a sudden, unnatural halt. Her own breathing was too loud in her ears as she dared to open her eyes. Books had collected around her but somehow Severus had managed to stay on the couch and clear a space, having been more in the way of a wave of wrapped presents than books. 

 

He was tucking his wand back into his sleeve with an expression of bemusement which quickly turned to concern. “Hermione!” 

 

The word echoed in her ears, and she shook her head roughly, trying to clear the noise. Unlike the cans of beans that were rolling about the floor in slow motion, her thoughts seemed to be stuck in a perpetual spiral fueled by doubt and fear. Snape’s  _ Arresto Momentum _ was impressive but had not managed to halt everything. 

 

She was unable to speak, choking on the absurdity of the moment. Stunned, she took in the sight of Severus peering down at her, his brow knit close in concern. Her knees were weak, rubbery as a newborn fawn’s and she was shivering. 

 

He spoke, but she was so distracted by the inner noise and turmoil that she couldn’t listen properly. It was the searching look and the gentle hand jostling her shoulder that broke through her shock. She claimed his hand and held it close, revelling in the smell of him, the solid warmth of that hand on her cheek. 

 

His distress was evident in the frantic way he was looking at her. The tension about his eyes and in his jaw put her in mind of what they’d been discussing. She froze up and panicked any time she felt aroused, or perceived a sexual interest her. It didn’t matter how much she admired or was attracted to that wizard. 

 

How could she explain? He didn’t deserve this pain; she would see him smiling. Or at least smirking and snarking. She wanted that very much. 

 

Even as two very dear, strong arms lifted her out of the cairn of her ineptitude, her sides started to quiver with a giggle. 

 

Finally, the right words came to her. 

 

* * *

 

Severus’ spell was able to stop the avalanche of blunt, brightly-wrapped objects and he quickly turned his efforts to digging himself out. Hermione’s damned bag must have exceeded any reasonable capacity of undetectable extension charms and she’d almost killed them both with the resulting avalanche of presents and half a library. 

 

Who packs enough cans of beans in their purse for a family to last weeks?  _ Hermione Granger _ . 

 

He’d dodged the cast iron cauldron that flew out moments into the disaster. It was that close call that galvanized him into action. He had a wand and magic at his disposal. You’re a wizard, Santa. 

 

The undetectable extension charm was a speciality of Filius’ and Severus wasn’t too bad at them himself. Often he’d used them on his pockets to allow him to keep certain vital potions and other tools close to hand should necessity require them. Still, he’d never attempted to stuff his entire life in a bag.

 

He had the forethought to place one on his pants, as he had no desire to repeat the previous date’s embarrassment. He’d thought of it last night after he had left Hermione at her door. His dick wasn’t spoiling for space now. It was the strangest feeling, and he thought it might have immense potential for those who disliked the confinement of underwear.

 

As awareness of the inappropriateness of these thoughts started to seep in, his attention was yanked back on track by the muffled sobs from several feet away. “Hermione!” 

 

Anxious to get to her, he stumbled and shoved through the detritus, using his hands to push through to her. She had already freed her own head and was sitting only waist deep, but something was wrong because she hadn’t answered him. 

 

The books underfoot were treacherous and he slid to his knees in an effort to get to her without falling. “Hermione?” When she didn’t respond to him, he grasped her shoulder and shook it gently. “Hermione, love. Look at me.” 

 

Tilting her head up, she let her hands slip down to grasp his hand and lift it up towards her face. She gave the palm a kiss before bringing it to her cheek, where she held it. The sight that greeted him was wonderful and terrible. Overwhelmed, those beautiful sad eyes, still brimming with tears were also bright with joy. A gentle shake of her head dislodged a messy curl, and made a poor substitute for a concise answer. 

 

It seemed like Hermione was trying to speak, but she only produced a breathy hiccuping giggle that hovered in precarious balance, threatening to plunge back into sobbing, so he pulled her into an embrace, pulling her free of the collected debris around her.

 

Severus wasn’t certain what to do with this. “Hermione?! Are you injured?”

 

When she did answer, she had her eyes closed. “Yes, Severus. But not by you and not today. I was a fool to believe I was treading water. I’ve been drowning this whole time.” 

 

Kicking a book out from underfoot and finally feeling that he was on firm ground once more he lifted his other hand to caress her brow. “Shh. I’ve got you. Whatever you need, I want to be here beside you.” 

 

Hermione’s breath caught, her voice quavered. “I’m not out of the water yet, love. I am starting to breathe.” She opened her troubled eyes and looked at him, lifting a hand to brush a stray loosened lock of hair out of his face, trailing down to tug on the white beard he’d forgotten that he was wearing. 

 

Her use of the word “love” lent him wings. He didn’t know what she saw, but the answering expression on her face made his heart skip a beat. The smile she wore carried the power of that fabled dawn after the blackest, star-forsaken night. 

 

Some instinct in him shied away from that intense, blinding joy. He swallowed, and before he could stay his own inanity he said, “Is there anything dangerous in that bag? George donated a lot of presents, did he not?” 

 

Colour flooded Hermione’s face and she broke the gaze with a rueful sigh. “I secured the worst of George’s toys, and I sent back anything that explodes. Also, there isn’t anything alive in there. Unfortunately, I’ve had that bag for eleven years so there’s quite a lot in there that I keep meaning to sort through. The potions I keep in a lockbox. I learned that lesson after a portkey to Bulgaria went pear-shaped.”  Stepping away from his hand she started to wade toward the offending luggage. 

 

Nervous, Severus said, “Hermione? Perhaps your wand?” 

 

She looked back at him, bemused. “Your  _ Arresto  _ is strong, yet I doubt it would hold under further meddling from me.” 

 

As if to prove her point more books poured out, lifting the bag higher as the pile grew beneath it.  Hermione froze in place, having to look up now to maintain eye contact with the offending object. “Merlin’s tits, this isn’t going to work, is it?” She held up her hands, fending off a new stream of additional stuff from the bag, a barrage of silver-wrapped boxes that rattled with the tell-tale sound of sugar quills. 

Grinning at her use of vulgarity, Severus swivelled about, looking for something, “I suggest you stay right there. Don’t move.” 

 

“Eep!” Eyes wide, she watched the bag shift, causing a tremor in the precarious pile. Hermione turned a fraction and another book slid down, taking four more in its wake. “Alright.” 

 

When he came back, he found her standing with a book open in her hands and her nose in it. Judging by the lack of acknowledgement and the rapid way her eyes traced back and forth across the page, she was fully engaged. 

 

Clearing his throat, he reminded her, “Don’t move a muscle.” 

 

“Quite.” The answer was expounded upon with a vague hand-wave, implying permission to carry on around her.  

 

At least seven naughty things occurred to him before he dragged his mind out of the gutter by its choke-chain. Among other things, a clean sweep had tumbled out of the bag and he’d set it hovering placidly at its proper height. It was ancient as these things went, and was weighed down by many layers of stabilizing charms. For lack of a better term, it was a relic that was made worse by a witch who desired a predictable flight. Why even fly at all?

 

He’d have to rib Hermione later. You’d think after dating more than one Quidditch player, she’d have better luck with broomsticks. 

 

The mirth was sucked out of that churlish thought by an evil little internal voice that broke in:  _ She told you none of them gave her a satisfactory ride _ . He nervously looked over at Hermione as he swung his leg over the dusty old broom. 

 

The voice kept talking,  _ Well, she certainly knows how to polish one _ . 

 

Hovering several feet above the mess, Severus was firmly assured that the broom was not going anywhere. The fussy old stick was burdened with ample locking and sticking charms, allowing him to lean over and hook the beaded bag up in two fingers with a grunt. Firmly, he snapped the top shut with a satisfying click. 

 

The broom was so stable, it was easy to imagine that he was perched on a float in the middle of a placid lake on a windless day. He leaned forward and pointed the broom towards Hermione. A single application of pressure sent it gliding and soon he was coming about so that the stick was set just about at Hermione’s ear height. 

 

From there he could read the page over her shoulder. It was an academic piece; he hadn’t made out the cover, but the pages she was inhaling concerned the management of magical baggage and various methods of packing. 

 

He was taken aback when the page appeared to flip over of its own accord. He held his breath, waiting and watching. After another minute he could see her loosen her grip and wriggle a finger. The page obediently flipped. It was then that he noticed the ribbon bookmark, which was marked with runes written out meticulously in very small print. His eyebrows flew up as the bookmark seemed to melt through the page as it was flipped, staying firmly in place. 

 

The silent appreciative sigh that escaped him stirred her hair. Other than a shift in her hips to switch her weight to her left side, there was no noticeable response from the absorbed witch.

 

Light as a cat, Severus dismounted from the broom and stowed it against the fireplace.

 

The sound of Hermione slamming the book shut returned Severus’ attention.

 

“Well, that wasn’t as much help as I’d hoped.” Hermione pivoted about, looking for him. “That’s more the pity; the sheer mass of what we need to repack is staggering.” 

 

Severus recognised the fire of academic passion bright in her eyes. While he preferred this, he recognised a diversion when he saw it. She’d retreated into a book, found a problem she wanted to solve, one that was more approachable. Physical baggage, rather than emotional.

 

Time was in fact, ticking away. As much as he’d rather dawdle with his velvet-wrapped witch, they did have innocents who were hanging their hopes on a delivery by Saint Nick. And he didn’t have access to a time turner, which he rather suspected a genuine Santa would need along with a fleet of house elves to achieve what he’s been built up to in modern lore. 

 

He opened the maligned bag and fixed her with his best Professorial glare. A slight twitch of the bag made its retained contents bang about; a wordless demand that she replace the presents and other detritus through which he was standing knee deep. Particularly the presents. 

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him, and after a long moment, her mouth firmed as she tipped the book back into the ridiculous bag. Then she turned, picking up packages one by one, depositing them individually. 

 

They continued on in this way, the crackling of the logs on the fire the only sound as he held the bag and Hermione doggedly worked to get particularly the presents stowed away safely. At this rate, it would take hours.

 

In a dark cave hidden in the depths of his mind, a part of Severus was laughing uncontrollably because the poor muggle-born witch had forgotten to use magic to solve their repacking problem. She must have suspected him because her glances were sharp, edged with irritation. He left the bag floating in the air for her convenience before hunting up the rest of his costume.

 

“Need a hand, my Helper Elf?” He returned having also donned the red jacket and put on the boots. He was very glad that she wasn’t wearing a tea towel or even a pillowcase. Rich emerald green velvet was charming, and he was very much partial to it on her. 

 

She twitched a hand at the mess. “I’m not going to get this all cleaned up now, I have too much to organize, but at least we can get the presents repacked so that we can get on the way?” 

 

Suppressing an eyeroll, he scoffed. “Salazar’s swollen asp, Hermione.” He took out his wand and performed a mass shrinking spell before levitating the now manageably sized mess into the waiting bag. All of it, presents AND books. 

 

She let out a strangled, “My books!” She turned accusing eyes to him, “I  _ had  _ a system!”  Arms crossed in front of her chest (which of course, did lovely things to her already enticing cleavage), she continued to glare at him, waiting for some sort of apology, he supposed. 

 

Severus went down on one knee before his witch, looking up at her reverentially. The black voice was still there, cackling away. As Hermione looked down at him in confusion he deliberately leaned forwards and picked up the last stray can of beans which had come to rest on the floor behind her. He tossed the can with uncanny accuracy into the beaded bag, not breaking his gaze with hers. 

 

Her lips twitched up, betraying amusement. 

 

_ Gotcha _ . Capturing her hand in his, he kissed her knuckles before standing back up once more. 

 

Pulling the stupid hat out of his pocket he jammed it in place on his head, a reminder to himself of what he was supposed to be doing. He slapped his belly and it obligingly bulged out over the belt in a sufficiently jolly bowl of jelly-like stuffing. Transformation complete. 

 

“Ho ho ho. Let’s go make some Christmas Magic, my delightful Elven Helper.” 

 

Blushing, Hermione bent over to retrieve her coat, giving him a fresh view of her cleavage. 

 

It wouldn’t do to cover up that lovely form, now would it? Better act fast. “Ah, ah ah. Santa’s magic will keep you warm tonight.” He cast a toasty warming charm on her, and to his delight, a responding rosy blush heated her cheeks. He forced his gaze back up to her face as she spun to try out the charm. Everything about her was soft and inviting. 

 

Steady on, Severus. Naughty naughty.

 

She smiled at him again. “Thank you, Santa.” She turned to retrieve that blasted itinerary of hers. How far were they behind…  _ good Godric _ . He could see that her charmingly striped stockings were being held up by garters tied in neat little bows with satin ribbon. How he yearned to see what happened if he caught one in his teeth. 

 

Was that on her Christmas list? 

 

Would he be so lucky as to have a Granger-approved inventory of intimate things she wanted to try, perhaps  _ with him _ ? It was one of those things Hermione would do. He’d found the concept intriguing when he’d come across it as part of his review of sexual education for his House. And if not, maybe it would aid the discussion they needed to have. 

 

In his pants, he could feel  _ his _ Christmas list getting longer. 

 

Feeling like a kid caught peeking at his presents, he forced himself to swallow. How was it that she could wind him up so easily? Thank Merlin and Filius for undetectable extension charms. He really needed to cool his cauldron, for they hadn’t finished that particular conversation yet. 

 

_ Patience and fortitude, m’cock.  _

 

Looking for a safer subject, he asked, “Are you going to help me eat the cookies that the children feel obligated to leave out? Last year I barely fit back down the chimney at the end of the night.” 

 

Laughing, Hermione pulled out two toothbrushes from her sleeve, where she usually kept her wand. “Got you covered, boss.” 

 

The way she looked at him, her eyes twinkling with laughter once again reminded him of just how right everything felt with her. He liked the sound of “boss” from her lips. 

 

Tomorrow was another day, and come what may, they’d face it together. He opened an arm to her and she nicked the bag from him, melting into his side with a satisfied sigh.

 

He was a patient wizard; he would wait until she was ready. When she invited him to unwrap her, he’d start by untying those hidden bows. 

 

One by one. 

 

For now, other pleasures would be enough. 

 

He found her company tolerable, much more so than so many others who never understood his jokes, much less the words coming out of his mouth. It was nice to talk with someone who didn’t need a dictionary to understand him. 

 

And, he did so like teasing her. Irritation and indignation were rather charming and it was a new favourite game of his to see if he could get her hair to spark. 

 

“Ever think about a career as a sidekick?” 

 

Hermione reached up to the mantle for a handful of floo powder, going up on her toes to do it. “Didn’t I already play that part?” 

 

He loosened his grip, hovering to make certain she didn’t lose her balance in those heels. “You do look really good in green, and I’m partial to black. Think about it: capes, mysterious masks...” 

 

“Really, Severus? Dungeon Bat-Man?” She was giving him a withering look, which is exactly what the bad joke deserved, he supposed. 

 

“Well, when you put it like  _ that. _ ” He harrumphed. 

 

“Stop number one!” She looked her clipboard and threw the powder into the fire. “St Mungo’s!” 

 

Laughing, she hooked a hand through his arm and they stepped together into the flickering green light. It was just the beginning of a long winter’s night. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: And so, dear reader I send you a grain of patience and a dram of love.  I wish the very Merriest Christmas to all and I do hope you, in particular, have a magical night.


End file.
